Christmas Past

by Glenice Crossland

  The door burst open and in rushed Jimmy and Michael, stopping dead in their tracks when they noticed Mary, to stand shyly in the doorway.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘aren’t you going to say hello or something?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Jimmy. ‘Have you come home?’

  ‘Well, what does it look like?’ said Kathleen.

  Mary laughed. ‘Oh, you haven’t half grown.’

  ‘’Ave I grown?’ asked Michael.

  ‘You certainly have. Why, I don’t think I’d have recognised the pair of you if I’d seen you outside. Where’s our Bill, then?’

  ‘Gone to the allotment.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had an allotment, Ma!’

  ‘It’s not ours, it belongs to the school, but anyone would think it belonged to our Bill, the way he’s taken over the running of it. Oh, well, let’s get out the stovies. Have you cut the bread, Kathleen?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Mary.

  ‘Oh no you won’t, not in those clothes,’ said her mother.

  ‘Well, give us a pinny, then. Oh, it’s lovely to be home again.’ But Mary couldn’t help wondering how long it would be before she was yearning to be back amongst the green hills and valleys of Yorkshire.

  As it happened it wasn’t the yearning for the countryside which forced Mary to return at the end of the week but the guilt of being away from work. The first few days had been made up of visits to Joyce, Father Flynn, and the shops, where she bought a new dress for her mother and shoes for her father, brothers and sisters, not caring that her precious savings would all be gone. After all, what could she possibly want, now that she wouldn’t have Tom to share it with? She also bought a white frilly pram set for Joyce’s new baby boy, crying bitter tears as she held the warm cuddly form in her arms.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said when Joyce became alarmed. ‘It’s just that I could have ended up having a baby too. Sometimes I wish it was me who had got caught instead of you, then at least I’d have had something belonging to Tom. I loved him so much, Joycey. I don’t think I can bear it knowing I shall never see him again.’

  Breaking into more sobs Mary set the baby off crying too, and then turning red in the face he suddenly gave a huge thrust and filled his nappy. The girls began to laugh and Mary handed him back to his mother.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she announced. ‘I’m relieved I didn’t get caught after all.’

  It was Father Flynn who offered her the most consolation. The relief of confessing the Christmas sin was tremendous, and afterwards she poured out her heart to him, anxiously questioning him about what would happen to the soul of a Protestant, and one who hadn’t attended church very often at that.

  ‘Well, didn’t you always have a good judgement of character, my child?’ he said to Mary as they sat by the fire in his cosy sitting room, he in the old horsehair chair and she on the floor at his feet, her head resting on his knee, the way she had on so many occasions as a little girl. ‘I can’t think for a moment that you would ever give your heart to one who wasn’t a good man and worthy of it, regardless of his beliefs. Surely he will not remain in limbo for long if you pray hard enough for the gates of Heaven to open for him. Besides, there’s far too many of our own faith with a multitude of sins behind them for there to be room for every Protestant outside. Sure Tom will be accepted without delay if he was as good a man as you say he was.’

  Father Flynn always had the knack of cheering Mary up, and he couldn’t for the life of him see what good it would do to keep the girl in a state of unhappiness for the sake of a few kind words. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling rather relieved that she hadn’t landed herself for good with a member of a different faith.

  On the Saturday before Mary’s departure a charity concert had been organised to be held in the British Hall at the end of the street, and of course the whole family had tickets. Mick O’Connor scrubbed away the coal dust with extra zest and donned his best white shirt and navy blue suit; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn it or had a pair of brand new shoes. He would never forget old Nesbitt the clogmaker’s face when Mary had produced the money and ordered shoes for the lot of them. ‘She’s a right good lass, oor Mary,’ he said to himself in the mirror as he brushed his thinning hair, noticing how much healthier he looked since he’d cut down on the drinking, determined the rest of the family wouldn’t leave home if he could help it. Still, he was proud of his eldest daughter, who had the face of an angel, marred only by the sadness in her huge brown eyes. He prayed that time would heal her hurt, but at the same time he knew she would never regain the carefree innocence she had possessed before she had loved and lost.

  The audience were all assembled by half past seven. Mrs Cree from number ten struck up on the piano with ‘There’ll Always be an England’ though it took some recognising with all the wrong notes. After three more tunes, and umpteen anxious glances off stage, she suddenly scurried off behind the curtain. The youngsters in the audience began to stamp their feet, then one young lad at the back of the room began to chant ‘Mrs Cree’s gone for a pee’ and soon a whole bunch of them were chanting with him. Mary couldn’t help giggling, although she gave their Jimmy a good-natured clout when he joined in.

  With a face the colour of strawberry jam Mrs Cree tottered back on stage and sat at the piano, her hands poised two feet above the keys, waiting to begin. Suddenly two little girls dressed in red and waving what were supposed to be a ship’s scarlet sails glided from behind the scenes with a small boy in a sailor suit between them. He came to the front of the stage and began to sing ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’, gesticulating in an exaggerated manner as he pretended to peer out to sea for the ship. Fortunately the child’s tuneless warbling was almost drowned by Mrs Cree’s bashing at the keys, the scraping of chairs and coughing in the audience. Nevertheless, wild applause brought smiles to the young performers’ faces at the end of the song.

  Next on the programme was a large lady in a purple taffeta gown, which was at least two sizes too small and some twenty years out of date. Mrs Cree began the introduction and then, in a tremulous voice which seemed to flit from contralto to soprano, the lady gave her rendering of ‘Cherry Ripe’. Every time she reached for a high note her enormous bosom heaved, fighting for release from the tight low-cut neckline. The audience were spellbound and Mary glanced around at the men, who were open-mouthed with anticipation, and the waiting wide-eyed women.

  ‘Ripe I cry.’ Reaching the end of the song, the singer took a deep breath and gave her all, flinging her arms into the air. ‘Come and buy!’ she cried, and out of her dress burst one heaving pendulous breast.

  The hall was silent as a tomb and then, as the poor woman bowed low and realised what had happened, the whole audience began to stamp and cheer. The same young lad who’d begun the previous chant suddenly shouted, ‘I’ll buy a pound of those any day.’

  The unfortunate performer, hastily covering herself, hurried off behind the curtain, whilst Mrs Cree, oblivious of what had taken place, stood and bowed happily, wallowing in her first ever standing ovation.

  The laughter rang along the street as the crowd spilled out of the British Hall and made their way home.

  ‘We’ll have oor own sing-song,’ Mick O’Connor promised as he invited the neighbours from both sides in for a bite of supper. Mary’s mother had left the oven full of roasting potatoes and the aroma met them as they opened the door. Young Jimmy was sent to the back door of the Hart with the large water jug to be filled with beer. Mary was pleasantly surprised at the change in her da, who seemed to have deserted the Hart and hadn’t been there at all since her arrival. Intent now on working to move the family into a larger house, he hadn’t had a collier’s Monday since the day Mary left.

  Old Jimmy Reed from next door had called in home to fetch his melodeon, and now he was entertaining them with his jaunty version of ‘Bladen Races’. Soon the singing could be heard at the bottom of the street, and one or two of Mick’s workmates ha
d sidled in to join them.

  The highlight of the night was when Mary amazed not only her family but herself as well by singing ‘Linden Lea’ in front of them all, bringing tears to the eyes of her parents, who were sad that their daughter would be leaving tomorrow, but oh so proud of the beautiful young woman she had blossomed into.

  Chapter Ten

  After hearing the news of Tom’s death Jack Holmes had loitered by the smithy every night for a week. The news had spread rapidly when the Downing girls had failed to turn in for work, and Jack, who had been taken with Mary from the night he had held her close at the dance, thought it only right that he should offer his condolences. It was Madge who noticed him standing by the smithy, watching eagerly as the day shift left the strip department. Never one to miss the chance of chatting up a handsome young man, she asked him if he was waiting for someone.

  ‘Mary O’Connor,’ he said. ‘My sister told me about her fiance, and I thought it only right that I should – er...’ He paused, not really knowing what it was he should do.

  ‘Oh aye,’ grinned Madge, never one to mince words. ‘Fancy her yerself, do yer? Well, lad, I can’t say I blame yer, but if yer want my advice you won’t rush things. Grief is a nasty thing and has to have its time. Still, I’ll tell her you’ve asked about her when she comes back. Yer’ll have a long wait if you intend standing here every night. She’s gone home to Newcastle for a holiday – the best thing for ’er in my opinion.’

  ‘Will yer tell her, then? That I asked, I mean?’

  ‘Aye, lad, I’ll tell her. Now I should get off home if I were you. On nights, are yer?’

  ‘Mornings,’ he said as they set off up the hill. ‘I finished at two, only I shall be on two to ten next week, so it’ll be awkward to see her then.’

  ‘Give it a week or two, lad. Like I said, there’s no point in rushing things. Mind you, if yer feeling in need of a bit of female company in the meantime ... ’

  Jack gave her a grin. ‘Well, what a shame my heart’s already spoken for, otherwise I might ’ave taken you up on that.’

  Madge gave him a shove. ‘Get away with yer,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’m old enough to be yer mother. Mind you, I’m not dead yet by a long chalk.’

  They were still laughing when they parted company at the top of the hill, but as they went their separate ways both hearts were heavy at the thought of what Mary and the Downing family must be suffering after the loss of the young soldier.

  Jack walked on thoughtfully. He had been tempted to seek out Mary after the dance. After all, his brother’s favourite saying was ‘All’s fair in love and war’. Usually he would have taken his chance against young Downing but somehow it wouldn’t have been right, not with him being a soldier. Now he thanked God that he had kept his distance. At least the poor young bugger had known Mary was waiting for him. That must have sustained him whilst he was over there in the thick of the action.

  He passed the Catholic church. That was another thing. He had seen her going in there one Sunday with Theresa Murphy. What would happen when his family knew he was knocking about with a Catholic? He smiled to himself; he wasn’t knocking about with anybody yet. Mary might not even entertain the idea of going out with him, especially if she knew about his brother’s reputation with the lasses, and who could blame her? She was so lovely – he could see her now in the green dress she had worn to the dance. Well, he’d never been religious, but he swore to God that if Mary O’Connor gave him a chance, he’d never look at another woman as long as he lived.

  Mary’s stomach gave a lurch as she stepped down from the train and she half expected to see Tom waiting at the ticket barrier the way he had been on her arrival last summer. She mentally prepared herself for all the familiar things which were sure to remind her of him at every turn, telling herself it was time she pulled herself together. What was it Tom had said? ‘You’re young, Mary; you could meet someone else.’ Well, she didn’t want anyone else, but he was right, she was young, too young to walk around with a face as long as a fiddle. Besides, she had to think about Tom’s family. They needed cheering up, especially the little boys.

  She deliberately fixed a smile on her face, surprised at how much better it made her feel, and walked through the barrier, bags in hand.

  The station clock told her it was almost four. If she walked briskly she could be home by half past five. She wasn’t sure, on this return journey, that she could afford the cost of a taxi.

  She felt the familiar pang of grief as she glimpsed and turned away from the jeweller’s where Tom had bought her ring, then she straightened her shoulders and set off towards the outskirts of town.

  She was almost on the Longfield road when the rag and bone man drew his horse to a halt.

  ‘Want a ride, missis?’ he called.

  Mary didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the greeting. She knew she’d aged considerably inwardly, during the past months, but she still didn’t feel like a missis. She smiled. ‘Thanks. My feet are killing me.’

  ‘Jump on then, if yer don’t mind sitting on top o’t pig fodder.’

  Mary looked in dismay at the rotting vegetables and potato peelings. The man found an old coat and made room for her to sit on it.

  ‘I expect yer surprised to see this lot.’ He laughed. ‘It’s from pig bins down in’t city. I can give yer a lift as far as Hedge Farm at Cowholes.’

  ‘I’m not going quite so far. Longfield will be fine.’

  ‘Just tell me where yer want dropping off then, bottom or top,’ he said. ‘Makes no difference to me, except that it livens up the journey having somebody to talk to.’

  Mary smiled. It was cheering her no end being jolted along in a cart full of pig food. Wait till she told the girls at work tomorrow. Why, it might even put a smile on the faces of Bessie and Lucy.

  A little while later Mary opened the door of a silent Moorland House. She called out to Mrs Roberts but received no reply; then she heard the clatter from the direction of the cellar.

  ‘Mrs Roberts. Mary hurried down the steps to find Gladys surrounded by old pans, kettles and utensils of all descriptions, and stood there openmouthed. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  Gladys beamed at the sight of Mary. What a miserable week it had been without her. She clambered noisily out of the mess and hugged the girl to her.

  ‘Oh, I am glad you’re back, Mary. You’ll never know how much we’ve missed you. If only I’d known you were coming back today I’d have had something special ready for you.’ She laughed as Mary stared at the tranklements littering the cellar floor. ‘Well, I had to do something to occupy me whilst you were away, so I’ve been collecting old aluminium for the war effort. There’s a collection being organised in town. I’ve done quite well considering the size of the village, don’t you think?’

  Mary laughed. ‘Very well. How are you getting them all to town?’

  ‘Rowland’s taking them on Saturday morning. He’ll be so pleased you’re back; you’ll be able to go with him and practise your driving.’

  ‘With this lot in the car I’ll be lucky if there’s room for me.’ She suddenly began to giggle.

  Gladys smiled. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, pleased to see Mary like her old self again.

  ‘I’m just thinking, I ride into Longfield on a cart full of pig food and out again in a car full of old tin cans. Oh, Mrs Roberts, I am glad to be back.’

  ‘And I’m glad to have you back. Come on, let’s go and see about dinner. The doctor will be home soon.’

  Mrs Holmes sat in her usual place by the fire, rocking rhythmically in the old wooden chair.

  ‘Aren’t yer going out tonight, Jack?’ she asked inquisitively.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s not like you to stay in on a Friday.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are yer spent up? yer can always ’ave a couple of bob if yer are.’

  ‘Mother, it’s pay day. How can I be spent up on a Friday?’

  She gave it up as
a bad job; she knew she would get nothing out of her lads if they didn’t want her to know anything.

  ‘I’m off to bed, Mother,’ Jack said.

  ‘At this time, when yer haven’t to be up in the morning? Are yer sickening for something, lad?’

  ‘No, I’m just tired, that’s all. Don’t forget I’ve been up at five all week.’

  ‘Aye, lad. Well, as long as yer not badly, I don’t suppose an early night’ll do yer any harm.’

  ‘I’ll fetch coal up for morning, then I’ll be going to bed then.’ He went to the cellar door, picking up the coal bucket on the way.

  Mrs Holmes watched him out of her eye corners. He was a good lad, their Jack, not as headstrong as Harry, and thoughtful. It wasn’t like him not to confide in her if anything was bothering him. Perhaps she was just imagining things.

  ‘Goodnight then, Mother. Tell our Harry not to make a noise when he comes in.’

  ‘Nay, lad, I shall be in bed mesen by the time he comes home. Yer might as well lock door – whoever’s next in knows key’s on’t string through’t letter box. Knowing our Harry, yer dad might well be in off night shift by the time he comes rolling home. Where he finds to go till all hours o’t morning I’d like to know.’

  Oh, no, she wouldn’t like to know, Jack thought. In fact she’d have a seizure if she knew he was down at Ada Banwell’s whilst her old man was away in the Navy. It was a miracle his brother hadn’t been caught before now, with all the married women he seemed to become involved with.

  If it wasn’t one of the husbands it would be his dad who found out one of these days, and despite his age he wouldn’t put it beyond the old man’s capability to give his brother a damned good hiding.

  Oh, well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned.

  Jack couldn’t sleep. In fact he wasn’t at all tired; he just wanted to be able to think about Mary O’Connor without interruption. He wondered if he had waited a reasonable length of time before approaching her, and if Madge had mentioned to her that he had been thinking about her. If he weren’t on afters next week he could have gone to meet her out of work; now it would be another ten days before he could see her.